The Girl Next Door
by Sherloqued
Summary: A present-day take on the night of the Blackwater.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: slight references to domestic violence, not graphic.

* * *

Blackwater Apartments, Los Angeles, California

To say that it was probably one of the most exciting, maybe even happiest, two weeks in my entire life is no exaggeration.

I first saw her at my apartment complex, while I was outside washing my car. I hadn't lived here for that long. Climbing off of the back of her boyfriend's, or husband's, motorcycle; black leather jacket and jeans that looked like they were made for her - her hair, when she took off her helmet and shook out her hair, was red, in a long braid that was loosened and tousled from the wind. Mid-20's or so. She walked with a feminine kind of swagger, as she tossed her handbag over one shoulder. But those weren't the most remarkable things about her.

Their names, Baratheon/Stark, were listed on the entry intercom in the lobby, above mine - S. Clegane; they lived at the apartment next to mine. The apartments were in a beautiful old building that had been originally built back in the 1930s.

* * *

As time went on, I'd see one or the other, or both of them, in the halls or elevator in passing, or picking up our mail in the lobby, and we'd say hello.

But sometimes the walls were thin, and I heard loud arguments between them, sounds of banging and crashing. Doors opening and closing; slamming. I rolled over, hit the pillow with my fist, tried to block out the sound so I could sleep.

I'd see her leaving for work in the mornings; sometimes her eyes looked like she'd been crying.

One time, her delicate face looked bruised, at her cheekbone; her eyes red and swollen from crying. I didn't know what to say, just nodded my head as she passed, and sometimes she'd manage a forced, tearful smile, or turn her head away. I was surprised by how angry it made me, and it was none of my business. But I didn't like it when men slapped women around.

The next time - I had to say something. I was to find that my tough girl wasn't so tough.

"Are you all right, miss?" She waved me away, told me it was nothing.

"You're upset, can I buy you a cup of coffee, at least?" I was her neighbor.

She agreed, and we made the short walk to the local coffee shop down the street. By that time, the walk seemed to have relaxed her a little and she looked like she was starting to feel a little bit better. She told me her first name was Sansa.

Over time, and more coffee, I had to ask it - "Why do you stay with him? Don't you have any family you could go to, girlfriends to talk to? You're not married, no children?"

"My parents are dead; I have a brother and a sister I haven't seen in years. No girlfriends I could talk to about something like this with." In truth, her girlfriends and co-workers had noticed, but she didn't want to talk about it with anyone, she didn't want to be the subject of office gossip. And it wasn't always like this, she said. She said she thought they might work things out, that she didn't want to involve the police and for him to be left with an arrest record that could hurt his future. She began crying again.

 _It's too bad he wasn't as considerate of you,_ I thought, but didn't say anything.

"Where are you from, originally?"

"Winterfell," she said. That was up near the Oregon border.

I was no one to judge, my family was fractured too. The scars on my face were from my own brother. She had been too polite to ask about them, but I told her how it had all happened.

"I could take you home!" I suddenly blurted out.

 _Who the hell did I think I was anyway, Sir Galahad_?

She hesitated, and I didn't want to push her. She was like a little bird.

"Well, you let me know if there's anything I can do," I told her, and walked with her back to the apartment.

* * *

When she made up her mind to leave, she came to me.

"There's something I'd like to ask you," she said. "Will you come with me? For company? I'd feel safer with somebody with me. I could go alone, but it's nice to have someone in your corner, you know? I'll pay for the gas, expenses."

I didn't know what else to say at first but yes. Nevermind about the money, we'd split the difference.

"Could I leave some things at your place until then?"

"Sure you can."

She left a small suitcase and a backpack with me.

"Wait, won't he come after you? Maybe you should go to the police, get a restraining order or something?"

"I really don't care what he does anymore," she said. "I just want to get away from him for now." One step at a time.

I took some needed vacation days. She bundled her German Shepherd, Lady, into my car and closed out her bank account and transferring the balance. She was a receptionist at an office somewhere, I think she said, and she gave two weeks' notice. She'd been thinking about this for quite some time. She left Joffrey a brief note via e-mail so that she wouldn't be listed as a missing person - _gone to stay with family_ \- and made a long overdue phone call to her brother Bran from her cell phone.

This was a big step for her. "He's going to let my sister know too. We'll spend the holidays together."

"You see?" I was happy for her.

"So where to, my lady," I said. "You're the navigator." _  
_

"Inverness," she said, laughing, a twinkle in her eyes. The first brightness I'd seen in her face in awhile.

"Ha," I chuckled. "Very funny."

It was best that we get on the road early. I made sure my old car and tires were ready for a long trip, loaded our bags into the trunk, and we headed North, up the I-5, over the Tehachapi Pass into the Central Valley.

It was cool now in the high desert, it was December, and there was snow in the mountains. As we drove at the western edge of the Mojave, she said that in the summers, she was in awe, felt she just might curl up and blow away, like a leaf, the air was so hot, dry and windy. And how beautiful it was when the Joshua trees and desert flowers were in bloom.

"Why'd you move to L.A. anyway? I asked her.

She took a sip of her bottled water.

"I guess I thought I'd find something better, something different," she said. "And there was Joffrey."

"No Hollywood dreams?" I teased her.

"No," she said, softly laughing. "At least not that kind."

"I went to college here too, I transferred to UCLA from Berkeley."

"Oh? What did you study?"

"Architecture," she said. "And I minored in Art History."

* * *

We took the coastal route to the Pacific the next day, Highway 1, up to Big Sur and over the Bixby Canyon Bridge. It was a gorgeous drive, I'd never seen it; the view of the ocean, the rhythmic lull of the waves crashing when we stopped for awhile to look, the coastal redwoods and fir, Monterey cypress and pines at Point Lobos shaped by the winds, and the cool sea mist and afternoon fog drifting in below us as we watched from the open car windows.

"It's magnificent," I breathed.

"It is, isn't it?" She smiled. One of her favorite places, she said, leaning her head back against the headrest, closing her eyes and sighed, exhaling deeply. In relief, it seemed.

Somehow we drifted closer together on that drive, closer to each other in the front seat, as she leaned in close to me, and I put my arm around her shoulders; she hugged me and kissed my cheek. I wanted to kiss her, but I had to keep my eyes on the road. We were coming up to the Monterey Peninsula. Carmel and Pebble Beach, a stop in Pacific Grove and Monterey, like migrating Monarchs, up to Seaside and Marina, and on to Castroville, passing eucalyptus groves on either side of us.

"Oh, let's stop here!" she excitedly said to me, taking my arm, and we pulled over, stopping at a farmers market and bakery, where she bought some groceries - some fresh fruit and vegetables, fresh pasta, a bottle of Chardonnay and a couple of reusable grocery bags, paying for it all with her credit card and smartly leaving a paper trail, but sincere and happily chatting with the check-out person, after we made reservations at a place in Santa Cruz with an efficiency kitchen, and she made us a simple dinner, a green salad, linguine pasta with tomatoes and artichoke hearts, and poured us each a glass of wine.

"I thought we could use a little break from restaurants and take-out," she said.

"This is great," I mumbled, my mouth full of food.

"Well it's the least I can do, since you agreed to help me." She set out some more bread.

"I finally hit him back, you know," she told me. He had started in on her again, coming at her, and she had been so frightened she had just reacted, hitting him as hard as she could in the stomach, and he had fallen, gasping for breath, staggering back to his feet. She was rather proud of herself at first, then shocked, she said. She didn't know she was capable of something like that. But once that had happened, she realized, she could not stay with him. It was not healthy.

She slept in the bed that night; I stretched out on the sofa in the sitting area to watch the news, waking up at about midnight with a stiff neck and a sore back, with the television still on low, and when I finally had the good sense to roll out the sofa bed.

* * *

When I knocked and opened the door to check on her in the morning, the window was wide open, and where the air outside had gotten cooler overnight, she had slept in my plaid cotton flannel shirt over her T-shirt, which was almost comically too big for her. She was swimming in it. I smiled; _no wonder I couldn't find it_. But she was beautiful.

"Come in."

"Good morning. Everything all right?"

"Yes. Oh, I hope you don't mind," she said, smiling apologetically and sitting up a little.

No, I didn't mind, at all. So I guess you could say I lent her the shirt.

Outside, the morning fog had come in off the water, quite far inland. You could smell the ocean and hear the rush of the waves on the beach, the calls of the gulls and shorebirds. The room was a little chilly, so I shut the window a bit, and went to the kitchen to make some coffee.

 _You're all right now, Little Bird, you're all right_ , I thought, but I wasn't sure how she'd take this term of affection I'd begun to have for her if I said it out loud.

* * *

I went out for coffees the next morning, to bring back for when she woke.

"I can drive today if you're tired," she said.

"I'm all right."

We stopped at the next gas station to fill up the car, and patiently endured the heavy traffic for the beauty of San Francisco, the Golden Gate Bridge, Sausalito and the Muir Woods. Another trip for another time.

At Inverness, at the Point Reyes National Seashore, we fell in love. We stayed in a quiet little cabin, slept together for the first time. It seemed like we had all the time in the world, and it was easy to become happily lost. We let Lady have a run on the beach as we walked, and I put my jacket around her shoulders in the coolness.

* * *

When we neared the Oregon border, we stopped at a little truck stop near Yreka, near Mount Shasta. I knew that our time together was going to end soon.

"The food is great here," she told me. And we had a fantastic homemade soup.

She left me her phone number. I wanted to call her, but would let her have some time to settle down, get her head together; reconnect with her family. And I made the long drive back to LA, which I needed to get my own thoughts together.

But I will call her.


	2. Chapter 2

After spending the night at a hotel, I got an early start the next day for the drive back at about four a.m., to get ahead of some of the traffic in the Bay Area, pretty much taking the same route we had taken. It was still dark. Nice, just thinking about her and remembering the places we had been - the lights of the houseboats of Sausalito, many still decorated for the holidays; the Bridge; the place we had lunch late one afternoon, outside on the terrace, with the view from eight hundred feet above the sea in the Santa Lucia mountains, and where she had fed the birds; Steller's blue jays, she said they were. The place where we kissed for the first time, made love. The time after that when we pulled over to the side of the road and just plain did it.

I took my time, told myself there would be plenty of time for the headaches of work, my construction business, pushing the upcoming meetings with architects, city planners and officials to the back of my mind. She was right; sure, you could go it alone, but it was nice to have someone to go along with you in life. I wanted her to choose to be with me - because she wanted me, not because she needed my help. I didn't know what I wanted. I hadn't felt like this in awhile.  


New Year's Eve

I called her from my land line. I'm old school that way. I could hear the phone ringing; something told me I should have gotten drunk. I wasn't nervous, exactly; but I wondered if sometimes things said in the heat of the moment could be reconsidered or forgotten.

"Hello?"

It was a different voice who answered, lively and happy.

"Hi. Can I speak to Sansa please."

"Who's this?"

"Tell her it's Sandor. Sandor Clegane."

"Oh! This is her sister, Arya. Hang on, I'll get her. And thanks for bringing our sister home to us."

I waited. I could hear voices in the background, talking and laughter, the sounds of a small gathering.

"Sandor!" Then it was her, her pretty voice, even more beautiful hearing it again.

"Hi. How are you doing."

"I'm good. We were just having some champagne."

"I just wanted to call to wish you a Happy New Year. Cheers."

I would have loved to be there with her, to share a glass of champagne at midnight, to turn to her and kiss her. To be the one she turned to and kissed.

"Cheers! I'm so glad you called! I wish you could have stayed with us for awhile."

"How was your Christmas. I wanted to call you."

"Nice. And yours? Bran and Meera live at the old house now; Arya's got her own place with Gendry. You haven't met Arya yet, what am I saying," she laughed. "But you were right; I do need some time to myself, figure out what I'm going to do. I'll be staying with Bran and Meera for awhile, and I . . ."

"Sansa . . ." I suddenly cut in. "I'd love to see you again. When you are ready."

"Me too," she quietly said.

"I have to come back soon to finalize things with the lease, rent, security deposit, get the rest of my things, that kind of stuff. I loved LA, in its own way, it is beautiful. But it isn't my home." she said.

"Do you need someone there with you? Have you talked with Joff since?"

"Yes." It wasn't even that he had problems, she said, it was just the way he was. But if anything ever happened again, then she'd have him arrested.

"You're sure?"

"I just want to move on with my life now."

 _The little shit is lucky to get off so easily,_ I thought _._ His family would probably have gotten him a good lawyer and tried to have the charges reduced anyway, or pressure her into dropping them. He could do no wrong in their eyes, she'd said.

"I'll have my sister with me too; she's a bit of a spitfire, you'll see."

She laughed again. It was so good to hear her voice again, her sweet laughter. She sounded relaxed and happy, safe - and glad to hear from me.

"But it would be nice if you were there too. And the building security has contacted me, knows I'm coming."

"Well call me if you need anything, or just want to talk," I told her.

"Okay," she said. ""I will. Thanks, thanks for everything."

"I miss you," she said. And I missed her. It was snowing outside, she said. I wished I could kiss her again, and I wanted her to love me senseless.

"I'll see you in the New Year then."

"'bye."

"'bye."


	3. Chapter 3

I turned onto Wilshire and into our parking garage after picking up some takeout for dinner. As I sorted through my mail, I looked up and noticed that I still had her Christmas card up on the mantel. On the front was a design of a palm tree decorated with Christmas lights.

Joffrey now looked at me with a quizzical expression when I passed him in the hall, like he wasn't sure if I had been involved or not, or maybe it was just me.

At any rate, he was rather cool and not as friendly as he once had been when I saw him. _Well, fuck the king_ , I thought to myself, chuckling.

* * *

Early Saturday morning, a small rental truck pulled up out front. I heard the intercom buzz.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi."

She and her sister were here to pack up some of the rest of her things; a moving company would take some of the furniture and bigger things the following week.

"I'll let myself in."

I knew she would probably want to take the stairs up to our floor, she liked taking the stairs. She had told me about how she liked taking the Clermont Street stairs for workouts, and sometimes the Santa Monica steps, and that I should go with her some time.

I remember thinking that I hoped I could keep up with her.

And when I answered the door - she wore just a pair of jeans, a t-shirt with an oversized man's shirt over that, cross trainers on her feet, her hair up in a ponytail, hoop earrings and no make-up, fresh from taking the stairs. My shirt, I realized, that I had forgotten from our trip.

"Drop by if you have a chance," she said.

* * *

The door was slightly ajar.

"Sansa?"

I knocked gently on the door frame, so as not to startle her; I had noticed that she startled easily sometimes.

Joffrey was nowhere to be seen, and wouldn't be back until after the weekend, she said. They had agreed that he would keep the apartment.

Her place was similar to mine in layout, with archways, stuccoed walls and Talavera tiles on the backsplashes of the countertops, sink and stove and on the island - hers were cobalt blue-and-white, some in the design of a little bird, a blue dove - in the open kitchen, but each apartment was slightly different. A pressed tin ceiling, curved staircase with wrought iron railing to the master bedroom and bath upstairs, with a small guest bedroom. There were lots of plants, and the sliding glass door to the wrought iron balcony was open, with more flowers and hanging plants.

"Can I take you ladies to dinner?" I asked, after we were nearly done.

We ended up just having pizzas and a large salad delivered, after the boxes were all packed and labelled. She had already opened a bottle of red wine, letting it breathe on the kitchen counter, and poured it into the three glasses that she had kept aside, and we talked and laughed as we ate in the dining area, Arya as lively as she had sounded over the phone. Apparently Lady was having a grand old time with the run of the grounds at the house in Winterfell. When we finished, Sansa loaded up the dishwasher for one last round.

"I'm going to miss this place," she said, looking tearful. I put my arm around her, squeezed her shoulder.

"You still have a place here, with me, anytime you want," I said, half teasing, but I meant it. She softly laughed, looking down and then back up at me, sweetly shy - and wrapped her arms around my waist, and I kissed her on the top of her head. We gathered up the pizza boxes and took the trash out to the chute at the end of the hall. She left the keys to the apartment on the kitchen island counter.

After, we went out to the rooftop terrace and sat outside to finish our wine - where there were even more plants and flowers, the rooftop gardens of hers and some of the other tenants, solar panels. A great view of the city, as the sun began to set and the lights came on. The night was slightly chilly, and the view seemed endless. We clinked our glasses to the new year. Arya said she was a little tired, and went back to Sansa's apartment to rest.

"Will your sister mind?" I asked her, kissing her.

"No," she whispered.

She slept at my place.

* * *

We separated, falling back against the pillows. She took my face in her hands and kissed me over and over again.

"I love you." I told her. And she said the same to me.

Late on Sunday afternoon, she and her sister left in the rental truck, Arya driving and honking the horn, and both waving wildly as I saw them off, and they disappeared from view.

It was later that the names on the intercom changed to Baratheon/Tyrell.


	4. Chapter 4

Arya and Sansa walked arm-in-arm around the grounds at their family home in Winterfell, as Lady ran up ahead of them.

"It's so good to have you back," Arya said.

Sansa was glad to be home again too.

"Don't waste your talents, Sansa," Arya told her sister. "You were always the smartest person I know. I always looked up to you."

Sansa scoffed at that.

"You don't need to look up to me," she said. Sansa knew she had made plenty of mistakes. "I always admired you, you might not believe that, your spirit. You always did what you wanted to do, didn't let others influence you."

Sansa had always tried to do what was expected of her, and to do it well. Until she found that the world hadn't turned out quite the way she was always told it would.

"And Dad always supported you, us," Sansa said. "Mom too."

"Yes," Arya agreed. "It meant a lot coming from Dad. With sons and all."

Sansa smiled.

"Laaaaaaady!" they called, and Lady came sprinting back to them as they turned to walk back to the house.

* * *

I met her for dinner at one of LA's trendy restaurants on one of our first dates during that time, having a drink in the rooftop lounge as I waited for her. Not really my thing, but once in awhile it is nice. There was a firepit in the center of the room, and I glanced over at it from time to time, watching the flames while I waited, from one of the comfortable couches. It would cool off quite a bit after the sun went down. It was a beautifully warm late summer evening now though, with a slight sea breeze coming off the water, and the view of the city skyline gleamed as it became dusk and the lights came up. I stood when she arrived; _she looks fucking great_ , I thought to myself, in a simple, sleeveless short black dress and heeled sandals, her hair left long, a lightweight, openwork shawl around her shoulders. Gorgeous legs. A knock-out.

"Wow. You look . . . great," I told her.

"Aww, thanks. So do you," she teased me, laughing, and we kissed, and the maitre d' showed us to our table, out on the terrace.

* * *

We decided over our menus. I didn't tell her about Joffrey, but she had already heard about it, and didn't seem the least bit concerned, almost relieved, I thought, swirling her wine in the glass, and then bringing it to her nose and taking a sip, and then as she told me,

"I've always liked Margaery, she said, "and I wish her the best of luck. She'll need it, with him."

* * *

We waited for the valet to bring my old car, so that I could take her back to the apartment.


	5. Chapter 5

__"Don't waste your talents, Sansa."__

She thought about what her sister had said. Sansa knew she couldn't rely on a man for happiness, not entirely anyway; and that Arya was only concerned about her. Arya was aware of some of it.

She still had the memory of a time one night, when she and Joff had come home late from a party, New Year's Eve maybe it was. She wished she had been able to forget the entire thing. She'd had a little too much champagne, and she was extremely tired, barely able to keep her eyes open. She had just kicked off her heels and changed into her nightgown, sitting at the edge of the bed.

And Joff wanted to have sex. She told him she was too tired, repeatedly; but he kept insisting and pestering her, and then he got that look in his eyes again, that he might hit her. So she reluctantly submitted, lying there like she was a dead woman, almost asleep the entire time. Then he rolled off her, breathing heavily, and she thought he'd never enjoyed it more.

 _ _What a vicious man__ , she thought. Her eyes began to sting with tears; how could she ever have cared for him, put up with him. She felt stupid, shame, and a little nauseous.

She was glad when Arya called for Lady and they went back home.


End file.
